Figuring it Out
by stelesandwands
Summary: Post- CoLS AU where Sebastian didn't feed the nephilim demon blood and such. Soon he finds someone to share his pain with and tries to sort his life out.


**12-05-2013**

**AN:** This is my first piece of fanfiction, and a few reviews to tell me how I'm doing would be nice c:

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I wake up screaming yet again. Another halfway slept night. Except this time, it's not my father's maniacal laughs waking me. It's Max Lightwood's screams. That tiny, insignificant piece of collateral damage which lost me Clary.

What have I become? Am I truly beyond saving? Have Clary and Jocelyn been right this whole time? Am I really a monster? I snort, before looking up to the mirror I've come to know so well. The first place I go after I wake up. Every time. Without fail I come to this place, to study what I already know by heart.

Yet every time I am shocked at how strange I look. Maybe it just took me realizing that I am part-demon to see just how demonic I look. The black eyes I detest so much now; how could they think me proud to be Lilith's son? Oh. I remember; my pathetic attempt at gaining a mother. However failed that attempt was.

Lilith.

I shudder at the memory and droplets of water fall from my long blonde lashes. Lilith's idea of a mother's love was to set me up as her heir and great offspring. The one to bring the fall of the nephilim, and the rise of the demons. Being around her was maddening and I finally escaped her clutches. Going to another of Valentine's houses and staying in Paris, Venice, Florence, Prague. Anything to escape the ugliness within. Being around too many people. So many people that I hate it, yet I relish the feeling of being overwhelmed because I am free from other, less pleasant feelings. Feelings like loneliness, crushing depression and guilt.

In the first few weeks I couldn't handle others -not yet knowing that to handle myself I first had to handle others- and I went to Bavaria, the great plains of Siberia, Sweden, Norway, Scotland. The big, wide spaces were perfect to feel empty and wounded in. I only realized how self-destructive I had gotten when I woke up on the roof one night, covered in my own blood. My subconscious had tried to take care of what my conscious was too cowardly to face. My imminent suicide. I tore off all my clothes and burnt them outside; I replaced my whole wardrobe with a mish-mash of things I had no ties to. Mainly haute couture but also lonely, torn thrift store clothes to match me. Lonely, abandoned and torn up inside. I moved to New York for a while, before catching a glimpse of Clary and that moronic vampire one night; after which I never came back.

My pain howled and tore at my insides until I learned to bury it under irritancy directed at idiotic Downworlders surrounding me. The warlocks are easiest to be around, for some of them understand not belonging. Although they are far and few between, and getting them to talk might as well be impossible. Their parents are demons too and it's easier for them to relate. Most of their foolish mundie parents are either dead from their ventures, or scared out of their minds of their own children. But my life is so empty, so void of emotion and any kind of passion that I don't know if I really should have healed myself on the roof that night. In those moments I hate Jace for changing me like this, giving me his silly, hyperactive angel feelings. I was perfectly fine without them. I don't even cry anymore. Why cry when there's no one to come comfort you? That's enough. Enough emotiveness. I attempt to channel my demonic ancestry and wipe my emotions clean. Damn Jace to hell.

I walk back out of my room, into the sleek kitchen. I'm restless and I can't settle into Hemingway, so I give up on staying in. Checking the industrialist clock on the counter I realize I've managed to sleep more than my last record. From 11 this morning to six this evening in Marrakech. I realize with a start that I've been here for over a week. A week. Not a single mention of Idris. Loud, sultry Marrakech has been a previous haven but never for over a week. This is bad; I can't get attached like this. I need to get out. Walking out to face the other earth colored flat buildings, I smile at the night sky, waiting for the stars to peek out of their hiding places away from the sun's greedy dominance. I end up in my favorite place in the city; Djemaa el-Fna night market.

A woman in her early 50s is glaring at me under her hijab from her stall of spices; "Jonathan!" I wince at the name, I prefer Sebastian now. Madam Alam purses her lips at me disapprovingly and I grin wolfishly back at her as she tuts at me. Then of course I saunter over, drinking in the appreciative glances from females around me.

"Madam Alam" I take her hand as my show of respect. "Do you have my pitiful sustenance?" Madam Alam blinks at me and laughs her crystalline faerie laugh, morphing into her high-cheekboned, haughty young self after dropping her glamour.

"My my Sebastian, getting positively twitchy! Yes I do have your 'sustenance' I cannot believe you refuse to learn to cook for yourself. Many men do nowadays."

"Oh but Aixa then I would've lost my reason to speak to you!" The young faerie shakes her head at me laughing her silent laugh. I smirk, rather proud that I broke her usually smooth exterior.

"Seb, just because I'm only a little older than you doesn't mean you can get away with your shameless flirting with everyone." Aixa tells me in a faux-scolding tone.

"But I'm only enjoying myself! You know I would never act upon my words with you. You're much too valuable a -" I pause; pawn probably not being the best word to use in front of her "compatriot."

"Compatriot?" Aixa isn't fooled in the least and rolls her eyes at me. Not that I can blame her, my demonic instincts have been rusty lately. Lying, hiding emotions, wiping away emotions in general is getting more difficult. Which is both frightening and frustrating.

Aixa hands me my food which consists of a bed of couscous with mutton; despite the food being good, I laugh at the prohibition of alcohol and make a big show of getting out a flask of whiskey. I take a swig and mockingly offer some to Aixa who rolls her eyes at me which is uncommon in her species generally so controlled. But then, Aixa isn't exactly someone you can label under 'generally'. We meet up every now and then in different cities.

I don't ask who or what she's running from and neither does she, even though I know she's curious in regards to the rumours following me around like ghosts.


End file.
